Miller's Rapture
by DannyDazzle
Summary: When a British man named Andrew Miller receives a vague letter from an old university friend, his suspicions are aroused. Little does he know that the letter would soon be the cause of a life changing move that sees Andrew residing in the modern day (1946) utopia that is Rapture. But what secrets does this city hold?
1. Friend of a Friend

_Chapter One: Friend of a Friend_

London. Foggy ol' London; the one place in the world where outdoor life is at its peak when it rains. To some it's a place of history, to others a place of memories, but to me it's just home. Actually I can't really say it's home; home implies that you're accustomed to every inch of the place in which you reside. There are many corners of London I haven't visited, many alleyways of which my eyes haven't had the privilege to have met. However today I'm taking a step closer to rectifying that.

A few days ago I received a letter from an old friend of mine; Alan Turing. Alan and I met whilst studying computer coding at Cambridge University. We became inseparable during our time at the university and both left with several merits and recommendations, but took different paths. Alan pursued a career in the private sector whilst I decided to go public. I've spent the last few years working for various businesses, but nothing permanent ever turned up. Last I heard, Alan was doing something for the government regarding coding and de-coding transmissions. It's because of our different career specifications that I was so surprised when I got the letter. Alan had written saying he had need of my services, that there was a project he'd been taken in by that would 'spark' my interest. He didn't tell me much more, just that it was highly confidential, and could lead to a permanent job for me. Now normally upon receiving a vague letter such as this I would've disregarded it immediately, but this was different. I've known Alan for the last 12 years of my life, so I have a pretty good idea of when something's not right about him, and when I read this letter, something seemed...amiss. Alan's not the kind to be so secretive. Obviously working for the government means that he has to have a few secrets, but this was different; it seemed almost as though he was purposely hiding things from me.

I've arrived at the address enclosed in the letter, one of the few nuggets of information that Alan did give me. The building seems to be on the verge of collapse, yet there seems to be life within. It's an old pub, 'The Phantom Lighthouse' was its name, not that that seems important or even slightly significant. As I walk in I'm met by gazes from all walks of life. The men in suits all sat around a cloth-draped table, drinking merrily as yet another business deal went through. On the other side of the room were the rough and tough men with their darts and pints; a ticking time bomb of pent up anger and rage fueled by cheep liquors. The air is thick, and tobacco pollutes my lungs further with each breath. There is a distinct lack of woman in the bar, apart from the landlady of course. She's standing there with the soulless eyes of a shark, looking down at her 'punters' with a mixed sense of pride, and hatred. Long has it been known that the landlady of any pub here in London is a much more formidable foe than any back-street mugger or any common hooligan you may encounter. As I go to move on from the doorway where I felt much too exposed to the common eye, something grabbed my arm. At first thought I made the assumption that it was an attacker, which in retrospect was highly unlikely seeing as I was in the epicenter of several dozen people, but in circumstances of shock logic evades the brain. I rip my arm from the stranger's grasp and turn to face him with several choice words on the tip of my tongue, but luckily for me they weren't needed.

I found myself face to face with a rather elderly looking gentleman. He had dark brown skin, short black hair with flourishes of white and a short beard to match, rich brown eyes and a pair of thin black glasses. He stood in a grey pinstriped suit with light leather shoes; yet even with all of this, the most distinguishing thing about him was a freckle on his cheek. Although he had many dotted around his face, this one freckle in particular stood out. I don't know whether it was bigger, or perhaps smaller than the rest. It didn't seem any different in colour, shape or form but yet some how it stood out. Before I had chance to further my observation of the man's features, he thrust his right hand out to me.

'Andrew Miller, I presume?' the stranger says, with a hint of hope in his voice. It's clear to see from the awkwardly placed smile on his face, and the uncomfortable eye movements that he was just as out of place as I was in this pub, which is why I think that I can trust him.

'That's right,' I assure whilst meeting his hand hesitantly. 'Do I know you?'

'Not unless Alan told you more than I wanted him to. My name is Charles Porter, but please call me Charles.' The mention of Alan alone reassured me that this man was a friend, although why he didn't want Alan to mention his name did concern me somewhat.

'Please follow me, Alan's waiting for us in the back room.' I follow without question. He pushes past all manner of people who I wouldn't dare even touch for fear of my own well-being. He often says 'excuse me' or 'pardon me' but his polite requests go unheard, and so the more brutal act of shoving comes into play. Eventually we reach a wooden door at the far end of the pub with a sign that reads 'PRIVATE'. Charles knocks three times and the door just swings open for him. 'Please after you' Charles says whilst gesturing me to proceed through the door. As I walk in the silhouette of a lone man emerges, sat at a table in the center of the room.

'Alan, is that you old friend?' I ask quietly, dreading what may become of the situation if I don't get the answer I'm hoping for.

'Andrew my friend, I want to share something with you.' he muttered without turning to face me. 'The world is changing Andrew. Things are happening, amazing things which we couldn't have even imagined.' As I slowly edge closer to who now I'm almost certain is my old friend, I notice there's a large model on the table in front of him. It looks almost like a city.

'What if I told you that there's a Russian, living in America who wants to build a new paradise? A place where the great can be great, without fear of governments and other men getting in their way?' Alan says in an almost hypnotic tone.

'Then I'd say he's one pretentious Russian Yank' I say jokingly, but Alan doesn't seem to see the funny side of it.

'I can assure you son, there is nothing pretentious about Mr Ryan,' Charles says whilst shutting the door. 'Everything that Alan says is true. As we speak thousands of men are piecing together a new city where no government can get to it, where no laws are currently in place. Mr Ryan is building a utopia where the great can create a new society, one without corruption or violence.'

'Complete and utter bollox' I joke as Charles slowly makes his way to the table. 'Surely if such a place were to exists, and on the same scale as a city, then someone somewhere would've noticed it.'

'But that's the beauty of it Mr Miller, our utopia is somewhere undetectable by man, a place where no one will ever think to find such a place.' says Charles as he takes a seat next to Alan, who is currently exploring every possible angle of his model city.

'Really?' I challenge. 'Then where is it?'

'About three hundred and fifty kilometers west off the coast of Iceland.' Replies Charles confidently.

'Right, so you have a utopian city floating in open waters off the coast of Iceland?' I challenge once more, becoming slightly weary of this overly elaborate joke.

'No Mr Miller, we have a utopian city off the coast of Iceland, three thousand meters below sea level. And its name Mr Miller, is Rapture.'


	2. A Deal to be Made

_Chapter Two: A Deal to be Made_

'Rapture?' l snort. 'Naming a city after a biblical event? Well Charles l do believe your Mr Ryan is even more pretentious than I first thought' l say, slightly more mockingly than l had perhaps intended.

'Mr Miller, whether you believe my story or not, it doesn't change what l'm here for,' says Charles. 'I came here under the instruction of Mr Ryan himself. He insisted upon having the greatest minds in the known world to help design Rapture's computing infrastructure. I was the first man approached, and like you l was skeptical at first, but Mr Ryan changed that, he made me believe. Now I'm here, and whilst admittedly my initial recruit was Alan here,' Charles gestures towards Alan who is still fixated on the model sat in front of him 'his responsibilities and connections with your government deem him unacceptable by Rapture's laws and requirements.' Charles says, with a distinctly sympathetic tone.

'And that's why l recommended you Andrew,' says Alan, who's fixation on the model has now been broken. He turns to face me. He's much skinnier than I remember, his hair has become unruly and grey, and his eyes show fatigue and weariness. 'My affiliation with our government has destroyed my chances of being part of this revolution, but you have no such issues,' says Alan as he puts his right hand on my shoulder. 'Andrew, there is no one I can think of who is more deserving of this position than you. You are every bit as clever as me, and more so.'

'But unlike Alan here, you have not been directly influenced or affiliated by, or with any government' says Charles as he rises from his seat and stands at Alan's side.

'Look, let's suppose this Rapture place you speak of is real,' I say whilst brushing Alan's arm from my shoulder. 'And let's suppose that I could take Alan's place, and that I was able to do all of the duties originally intended for Alan.' I say as I walk over to the model set central in the room. 'Why should I do such a thing? Why should I give up my life here to go live in some tin can under the ocean? The war's just finished, our country's won, why would I leave at a time of such patriotic victory?'

'Because,' Charles says calmly, 'this victory has come at a cost. Substantial losses have been made on both sides, Andrew. Whole cities lost, families torn apart.' I see pain in Charles' eyes. He drops down into the closest chair he can find. 'I came here Andrew, in October of 1938. I've spent the last 6 years of my life collaborating with Alan here. He knew from the start that he wouldn't be allowed into Rapture, but he helped me regardless because he knew that it was something worth fighting for.' Charles takes a deep breath in, almost as though to prepare himself for something. 'On September the seventh 1940, Alan and I visited a government code and cypher school in Bletchley Park. We did this with the intentions of obtaining government coding, which would wipe Raptures co-ordinates from Europe's mapping capabilities. Unfortunately we were unable to do so as all military and government buildings were in lockdown.'

'Why?' I asked quietly, so engrossed in Charles' recollections that I barely noticed Alan stand behind him, and sympathetically place both hands on his shoulders.

'Because,' replies Alan, before Charles has a chance to. It's clear to see that Charles in some sort of distress. 'On that night the Germans began an their attack on London.'

'The Blitz' I say, still unsure of why this is of any significance.

'My wife Pearl,' begins Charles, 'was a wonderful person: more beautiful than any gem or diamond. I loved her more than I ever thought possible.' I see tears begin to form in his eyes, but Charles fights them back. 'She was out when the first bomb hit, but she was nowhere near it's radius. But then more began to fall. The sky was clouded with smoke from the artillery. She must have ran so far, so fast. Her body was found miles from our home; she must've been so scared, so alone…' The tears manage to force their way through and Charles sinks lower into his chair.

'The point of this,' says Alan quietly as he looks sympathetically at Charles, then back at me, 'is that many people have made huge sacrifices for this city to be built. The sacrifices were made because they believe that we are striding towards a future where violence and war is no more.'

'Pearl's death was devastating for me of course,' mutters Charles 'but I never gave up hope for Rapture. I want to help create a place, were no one will ever have to die at the hands of others, where no one will ever have to lose a loved one the way I lost Pearl.'

'Mr Porter,' I say cautiously, trying to choose my words wisely 'I'm sorry for your loss, but I honestly don't know what you expect of me. I can't program a city. I'm not one of these great people you talk of,' I sit on the chair beside Charles' and try to look him in the eye, but can't due to an ill placed feeling of guilt. 'I'm a nobody. I haven't had a real job in months. I live in the darkest corner of this city where only the parasites of men reside.'

'All the more reason to accept the offer then.' Says Alan as he sits opposite me. 'You'll be given a permanent job, a spacious home and honest pay.' But the more Alan tries to tempt me, the more reluctant I am, and he knows it. Alan takes a deep breath in says in a quiet but strong tone 'Just look at what you're being offered Andrew' whilst saying this Alan gestures at the model placed between us. 'You could be responsible for putting together the final piece of the puzzle that is Rapture. You could stay here, live the life of a rat: hiding in the shadows and taking whatever scraps people offer you, or you could be something great.' As he says this, he stands above the model and leans in close to me. 'You can help build this new society, a modern day utopia where every man is equal. A city run entirely on the belief that what a man earns is his to keep.' Alan sits back down, takes a glance at Charles and returns his focus to me. 'At the end of the day Andrew, the choice is yours.'

I don't know when it happened or why it did, whether it was Charles' story of his wife's untimely demise, or whether it was Alan's last-ditch attempt to sway may decision with a speech, but I believe them. I believe that somewhere, somehow, deep below the sea there is a city, a city that needs me. Maybe it's because I want to believe that I serve a higher purpose, or maybe it's because I'm a gullible fool; I don't know, but I do now know my decision.

'Alright,' I say confidently but at the same time hesitantly, 'you have yourself a computer coder'.

'Really?' Charles says as he sits up in his chair, his eyes glimmering from hope. 'Are you sure? Once you sign up, there's no going back' he says, with a slightly more stern tone.

'I understand,' I reply. 'Perhaps a tin can under the Atlantic ocean is exactly what I need' I add jokingly, trying to mask my uncertainty with humor.

'Indeed' humors Charles as he stands to meet me with his out-stretched hand. 'I'll be in touch shortly, but until then; it's been a pleasure Mr Miller' Charles says in a rushed voice, almost as if he wants to make his exit before I have chance to reconsider.

I meet his hand and grasp it tightly, 'Please, if we are to be working together, I'd find it fitting for you to call me Andrew' I say, trying to reassure him (and myself) that I shan't change my mind so swiftly.

'Very well,' Charles says as he shakes my hand, 'I look forward to our next meeting, _Andrew._'And with that, he bids Alan goodbye, takes one final look at the model city in the center of the room, lets out a long sigh and mutters 'Soon my friend, soon…' and exits the room.

I stand motionless in the room, recapping on everything I have just been told and have agreed to. Alan grasps my shoulder with his hand and says in a reassuring way 'you won't regret this Andrew', but then looks down and says 'I know I wouldn't' in a distinctly disappointed tone.

'I don't understand' I say whilst turning to face Alan, 'Why is this Mr Ryan so apposed to the government?' I ask, suspicious of what kind of man's world I'm going to be entering.

'To know that Andrew,' Alan starts 'you must first know Mr Ryan's life story, and whilst it is an interesting tale, this is neither the time nor the place.' Alan stands and makes his way to the model city. 'It seems a pity to have to dispose of such a tremendous feat of craftsmanship, doesn't it?' Alan says whilst bending over to get a closer look at some of the finer details of the model. 'But there are regulations one must follow, the most important of which being: no evidence of Rapture' and as he says this Alan reaches under the table upon which the model resides. His hand re-emerges with a small box of matches. 'No one can know of Raptures existence on the surface, otherwise it's purpose would be defeated' and whilst saying this he strikes one of the matches, 'anything can be silenced and removed, be it models, rumors or even people…' and with that he drops the match to the model. I don't know what the model is made from but it's engulfed in flames within a matter of seconds.

'Goodbye Andrew,' Alan says over the roars of the flames, 'I hope to see you again someday.' And with that, he's gone. Disappeared into the dense smoke, which is slowly filling the room. I have no time to question my friend's abrupt exit, before I know it the room is completely filled with thick, heavy smoke. I run to the back door and throw myself through it. I land harshly onto the cold cobbled alleyway behind the pub. I begin to hear shouting from the pub, at first it's of shock, but then I hear the landlady. 'What the bloody hell is going on?!' she screeches, her voice booming down every street for miles. Without thinking I stumble to my feet and run as far and as fast as I can in any and all directions, I know I'm not to blame, but who would believe me if I told them what had really happened? I'm not sure I believe it myself.


End file.
